


dissonance

by fantasycostco



Series: my bones rattle in my chest [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: C-137, Gen, Mental Health Issues, morty is a person too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasycostco/pseuds/fantasycostco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty thinks he can pinpoint exactly when he became a monster, it's almost too easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> Not all of these will be connected. This is basically going to be a place for me to dump my stray thoughts for Rick and Morty. I have a lot of feelings, okay?  
> (BIRDPERSON, WHY)

  Burying himself on a late Tuesday night had, at the time, only been literal. By the time he'd seen the utter destruction that could only be possible when a Rick is involved he has felt the bleak tidal wave of emptiness overtake him. Morty was dead. Morty is dead. He is Morty, and he is not Morty. It is all very dramatic. This was when he realized perhaps burying himself on a late Tuesday night had also been figurative.

  Meeting all those Ricks, all those Morty's, had shifted something vital within him. The eyepatched, evil version of himself had seen something of an echo inside him. Had crawled into his very being and whispered to him the deepest truths he knew. He had shriveled up, his soul having crawled out of his vessel long ago, and waited. He waited in that room full of many versions of himself, and felt nothing. He waited and waited and waited for something to come back to him. All he felt was the dampen earth, all he smelled was hot sticky blood. He was standing in the backyard, looking at all that was his life, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

  It took him awhile before he went through the motions of life. He stood up and told himself (himselves?) to be more than a Morty (because Morty meant weak, a Morty was not a Rick, a Morty was nobody, nothing). In that room he finally let go of being Morty, had let the memory of that Tuesday night in the backyard shift the paradigm. He had met the eyes of his twin, his equal, and showed him his own monster so similar to the evil version of himselves. He had seen the recognition in his eyes, two monsters meeting in a monument of ruin.

  He sheds Morty and becomes Mortimer. An old name for a new soul. He cleans his soul with blood and gunfire. Rick drives them home and they pretend that neither of them were aware that Evil Rick had been dead the entire time, had only been an extension of that evil duplicate. (He is not evil just ruined, wrecked beyond all recognition, he is a soldier that can't let the war go, a vessel that felt too much rather than too little, a monster that hungered for vengence).

  Mortimer does not feel like Morty did. The anxiety, the depression, the self-hatred - all of these are washed away with blood. Hot, sticky blood and damp earth. It seems whereas Rick has forgotten his buried body, Mortimer has let it consume him. He dreams of laying in the ground; the sound of the shovel, the cold sprinkle of wet earth, and blood. There is always blood.

  Rick leaves and takes nothing of Mortimer with him. The Federation comes and with a guiding hand they pluck all that earth has to offer. Morty tattoos C-137 on his inner thigh with the word Morty is written underneath. They are blacker than the void of space, those letters. He doesn’t know if they are to remind him of who he is or to remind him that he is just another face in the crowd, one more Morty. He leaves almost a year after Rick does.

  He had always been so much more than those five lettered words that defined him. (Morty. Ricks. Human. Earth. Idiot. Morty).

  Space greets him like an old friend, his spaceship (bought with crumpled bills earned through endless hours of odd jobs) hums a song to match the one in his head, Ricks extra portal gun (those bastards on the council would have a heart attack if they knew) sitting in the cup holder. He stared into the void and saw the stretch of the universe. It called to him, to that darkest part of him that needed adventure and blood, and this time he would respond to the call.


End file.
